


Sweatshirt

by orphan_account



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Daddy Kink, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, jerkin it while wearing someone else's clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 16:50:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5135261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael defiles Geoff's sweatshirt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweatshirt

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

The party was supposed to end, his friends were supposed to leave, Geoff and Ryan were supposed to leave and stop fucking _touching_ each other, in Michael’s own fucking apartment, in Michael’s own fucking _house._

The party had been planned a week before they announced their relationship. Michael hadn’t had the balls to cancel it. And now…

Alright. Michael had to admit that having a crush on his boss wasn’t the smartest fucking idea. And he wasn’t exactly secretive about it. If anything, he was _obvious,_ doting on him and touching him whenever he could, drawing Geoff’s attention with jokes and cries of his name and _“Daddy!”s_ when he wasn’t paying a satisfactory amount of attention to him. He was like a whiny dog with the way he always begged for Geoff’s eyes on him, and then Ryan…

He didn’t hate Ryan. He couldn’t. Ryan was his coworker, his friend, a really _good_ and _nice_ person, but Michael, with his violent urges and stupid impulsiveness, kind of wanted to slam Ryan’s head against a wall sometimes, especially when he watched Ryan kiss off a smattering of salsa from Geoff’s lips, when he watched Ryan kiss Geoff at all, and it kind of started to become whenever he saw Ryan and Geoff standing next to each other. It was getting bad. And really unhealthy.

He told Ray and Ray just scoffed because Ray’s _Ray._ Ray doesn’t really understand Michael’s anger because he’s so totally the antithesis of anger all the time. Ray didn’t even get angry playing Battletoads. Ray would be able to cream him in any and all games he’d played for Rage Quit without even raising his voice once. That’s how Ray is.

Ray just deals with shit.

Michael’s really bad at dealing with shit.

And Gavin wouldn’t understand. Gavin, through all his good points, has somehow never understood Michael’s unrequited love for Geoff–-or even anyone’s unrequited love for _anyone,_ somehow he just doesn’t _get_ it and it’s infuriating–-but especially with Geoff. Maybe it’s because Gavin has seen Geoff’s dick before, lived with him for years. Gavin and Geoff were like father and son. It’s like your dad telling you that you were gonna have a new mom, except your new mom was the same age as you and also your coworker and also had drunkenly babbled to you how much she likes him and every single thing she wants to do to him–- _multiple_ times.

Michael needed tone it down with the drinking.

At least around his friends.

But ever since Geoff and Ryan announced their fuckin’ _relationship,_ “The Quest for Geoff’s Ass” (as Ray so eloquently put it) was an even more fruitless venture. At least before Michael had gotten Geoff to play along, respond to it, tease him back, but now? Jesus Christ, Michael had always been a clingy, affectionate person, but he was _starved_ because Geoff would barely even look at him, wouldn’t even notice any of his jokes, he had to beg and whine to even get a laugh out of him.

It was fucking maddening.

And the worst part?

Geoff was better at the party.

He really was. He was playful, and nice, and at one point he wrapped his arm around Michael’s shoulders and ruffled his hair and, really, Michael could cry. Or he could die. He could _literally_ die happy with that fucking memory in his mind of Geoff touching him one last time but then Geoff moved to sit nearly on Ryan’s lap and do the same exact thing to him. And kiss him on the cheek.

So really, he was fuckin’ glad when the party was over. He was so _happy._ He didn’t have to see _that_ until work on Monday; that was two days straight to wallow in self pity and play violent video games to see if they would help, would work as some sort of venting.

And then he found Geoff’s jacket.

He’d been cleaning up to avoid going to bed, lost in his thoughts, when he saw it draped haphazardly over the back of his couch, and he worried his lip when he recognized it. Michael really didn’t want to _touch_ it at first, something about it making him feel even worse, but it ended up folded neatly (he’d done it three times, compulsively checking to make sure it was folded right even though Geoff had probably never spared a thought to that in his life) on his coffee table.

Then on his countertop in the kitchen, getting it out of the way while he cleaned the rest of the living room. Michael would feel so bad if he got it dirty or something, and while Geoff was such a chill guy that he wouldn’t even think twice about it, not even say anything about it, but Michael would feel crappy about it. You know, even though he had a washing machine…

Then on a chair near the door. He should probably bring it back to Geoff tomorrow or something, and though it wasn’t like Geoff didn’t have more hoodies, Michael seemed to remember this one being his favorite, so he shouldn’t…

He ended up wearing it.

He kind of hated himself, but it was vaguely chilly in the apartment, it was the closest jacket to him and really, Geoff wouldn’t _mind,_ and _shit,_ it still smelled like him, a woody, smoky smell that made Michael stop and pause in the middle of his living room to hold the fabric up to his nose and just _smell_ it, God, he was so fucking weird and creepy.

And he didn’t totally know what happened to lead him to _this_ point, splayed out on his bed, naked except for that fucking hoodie that was a little bit too long for his arms, gingerly stroking himself. His fingertips trailed up and down his shaft, his thumb slicking over his head, and there was so much guilt building up inside of him he thought he might explode, but at the same time it was so much _better_ than anything he’d ever done before. He could smell Geoff all around him and it was intoxicating, like he was _there_ with him, and it was so easy to let his eyes slip closed and imagine it was Geoff… Geoff touching him, inky fingers jerking him off, teasing him.

Because he’d thought about this a lot, thought about how Geoff would touch him. Geoff would be a cuddly son of a bitch, savoring every touch, coaxing out Michael’s orgasm nice and slow. He’d be skilled, practiced, know exactly where to twist his hand on his cock to make Michael beg for something _harder, faster,_ but Geoff would be so much of a tease it would be almost unbearable. Michael would love it. Michael loved hard and fast, sticky and _hot_ but he could go for something sugar sweet, something like sleepy morning sex before either of them had coffee, bleary eyed and barely awake. He’d love it because it was from _Geoff._

Or Geoff would use his mouth, maybe, because all that boasting about blowjobs had to come to fruition somewhere, right? Maybe Geoff wasn’t fuckin’ kidding around and maybe he _had_ perfected the art, knew how to blow someone like a fuckin’ champion. Maybe he _liked_ it, liked swallowing someone’s cock down, liked letting his hair get all fucked up and messy as Michael tugged on it. God, just the thought had Michael’s hips jumping as he sped up the pace of his hand, fully wrapped around his shaft and properly pumping himself, now, and he had to push up the sleeve of the sweatshirt as it started to catch on his cock, getting wet with his precum but he couldn’t be bothered to care, just needed to get off.

But God, Geoff, _Geoff,_ he’d take anything from him if it meant Geoff got to know, if it meant that Michael could cry Geoff’s name as he came and Geoff would hear him, and that Geoff would be making him cum, touching him and only him and not anyone else, not Ryan or anyone else. He would let Geoff do whatever he wanted to him, hold him down and fuck the life out of him, shove him down on his knees and fuck his mouth, drag him to the shower in the office during work and bring him to orgasm with his talented hands, like Michael was imagining him doing, like Michael was doing right _now–-_

Embarrassingly enough, Michael had been concentrating so much on his fantasies that he only felt his orgasm, and Jesus… Jesus _Christ_ he’d cum all over the front of the hoodie, and rubbing at it only made it worse, made it smear and made it soak further into the fabric and he could feel the warmth through the sweatshirt and _that_ was disgusting. _He_ was disgusting.

He ripped it off himself and ran it to the washing machine, as if every fuckin’ second before a stain set in was vital. Which… well. It wasn’t like he had a _terrible_ washing machine.

If he was crying by the time he flung it inside the machine there was nobody there to know.

–

Michael brought Geoff his jacket to work on Monday. He’d lost count of how many times he washed it, nervously, compulsively, stuffed it right back into the washer after it was dried. He’d fucked up so damn bad.

“Thanks, buddy!” Geoff said, when Michael handed it to him. “I was missin’ this all weekend. Thought I left it at your house, but I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Sorry,” Michael said brusquely.

“Don’t worry about it!” he said, and he wrapped him in half a hug and planted a fat, exaggerated, wet kiss on his cheek. “Thanks for gettin’ it back to me, Michael!”

Michael probably didn’t move for ten minutes, his fingers pressed to his face.


End file.
